Consider the trees of the earth.
Beginning as nothing more than a seed,
The seed breaks open, allowing roots
And a sprout to grow forth.
The sprout twists and turns
Facing new directions as the sun rises and sets
Twisting, stretching, ever reaching
Further and further into open and untraversed air.
The sprig of tree toughens
Grows thicker, stronger
against the weather and elements
Each year the bark changes its face.
Branches shoot out in every conceivable direction
How better to catch the sun with?
The branches form branches of their own
A labyrinth of twists and turns, indecisions and opportunities.
The leaves grow full
Intercepting the path of each sunbeam
Outward and upward reaching
Into the unknown.
But the tree is not this.
Not its bark nor its leaves.
These are but temporary.
Leaves die, dry up and fall.
Branches are abandoned for different ventures.
The very face of the tree adapts and shifts.
Are we not so?
Growing, shifting, changing.
Seekers of new days and opportunities.
Basking in the glow of each ray of sun.
Even if temporarily.
Consider now the flowing rivers.
At its birth, assigned a route.
A direction to flow.
Carved out by waters now passed.
For years, even generations
The river seems the same
Varying, straying little from its original course.
But I tell you this is not so.
The river has defined the landscape.
Not just in the tales of summer youth
But also in physical reckoning.
The river’s bed has been carved and transformed.
Are we not so?
Accepting first the guide of our parents
Then in defiance, marching to our own path.
Not entirely the one given but not so far-fetched either.
Friends, parents, those yet unborn,
Do not fret.
The world turns. The rivers flow
The trees will grow.
The definition does not always define the object.